


You've Got...

by chucks_prophet



Series: The Mailman's Vengeance [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Neighbors, Embarrassed Dean, Famous Dean, Firefighter Dean, Humor, M/M, New Neighbor, Nurse Castiel, Overdue Mail, Porn Magazines, Sexual Content, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, mail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:42:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7602028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cubby marked Castiel C. Novak is typically piled higher than a Red Sox Championship Game—or at least Cas would presume, he doesn’t have time to watch paint dry, much less television. The mail guy, Travis, has gotten so fed up; he just sticks the envelopes between the cracks. Now, it’s like there’s a paper fort shielding his compartment from others. And by paper, he means currency. And by currency, he means bills. He wouldn’t be surprised if he found an eviction notice shoved near the back.</p><p>What’s actually lurking in the Black Lagoon, however, is a far cry from an eviction notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've Got...

**Author's Note:**

> From otp--prompts.tumblr.com: Travis the clumsy mail-carrier put Person A’s porn mag in Person B’s mail compartment and they have to deliver it by hand because Person A’s mail compartment is locked

 

Overflowing is an understatement for the state of Cas’s mail compartment.

The cubby marked _Castiel C. Novak_ is typically piled higher than a Red Sox Championship Game—or at least Cas would _presume,_ he doesn’t have time to watch paint dry, much less television. The mail guy, Travis, has gotten so fed up; he just sticks the envelopes between the cracks. Now, it’s like there’s a paper fort shielding his compartment from others. And by paper, he means currency. And by currency, he means bills. He wouldn’t be surprised if he found an eviction notice shoved near the back.

What’s actually lurking in the Black Lagoon, however, is a far cry from an eviction notice.

Well, unless that eviction happens to be of the erotic nature.

Cas is already squinting against the August afternoon sun streaming brighter than the welcome screen on a smartphone during a restless night, but the item—scratch that, item _s_ —in his hands makes him purse his sapphire eyes even tighter out of sheer bewilderment. The pages are glossy and colorful (depending on your definition of the latter). The first magazine portrays a modern portrait of Mona Lisa… if Mona Lisa was Asian and bared more cleavage. _Busty Asian Beauties: Limited Edition Issue,_ it reads in red and black spiky font.

Cas isn’t sure how much of Ms. Lisa is _limited,_ because he moves onto the second magazine. This one reads _Riders with Rumps_. The cover features a wide shot of a particularly muscular man in a stable next to a horse, adorning a white cowboy hat and chaps that expose far too much.

Or maybe Cas is confusing himself with the man in the shot, because he has been exposed to _far_ too much.

He chances a glance at the mail slots around his. It couldn’t be Naomi’s, the middle-aged woman three rooms over; she’s painted with more purity than the stained-glass windows of her local church. It couldn’t be Alfie, either. The only dick that kid gets is at the Weiner Hut across from the Gas N’ Sip _._ And Charlie… well, it could very well belong Charlie, but she’d only be interested in the pin up Mona Lisa.

Cas flips the first magazine over and finds a white sticker slapped across the barcode:

 

 

_Dean Winchester_

_666 S. Cain’s Dr. #83_

_Lawrence, Kansas 66044_

_Thank you for being a loyal_ cum _stomer!_

***

 

Cas stands on Dean’s welcome mat for a whole minute before mustering the courage to knock.

Dean Winchester is a transfer firefighter from Sioux Falls who made national news a few years back after saving Chuck Shurley, the writer for those highly suggestive _Supernatural_ books, from a fatal house fire. Naturally, his name didn’t die on the tongues of commoners for weeks after. The _Washington Post_ pinned him the “firefighter largely to blame for setting Shurley’s house aflame with his charm and good looks alone”. 

Cas remembers the picture they used for the cover of _Time_ magazine. The one of Dean caught in action with his arm around the author and his oxygen mask peeled back, revealing no more than a knife-sharp jaw and messy caramel hair, but it was just enough to leave everyone in America slack-jawed. The thought makes Cas’s hands sweat and his eyes do the squinty thing again.

The door pulls back a few seconds after he knocks, which is definitely not enough time to prepare for what he’s going to say… whatever it was he was going to say. Oh yeah, magazines.

"Hi, Dean, right? I’m Cas, I live a couple rooms down. This came—not came, nothing came, it was, er, delivered to me, but I believe these belong to you. Not that you _look_ like the type to, you know... but the one with the big... physique… has—"

"They're mine," Dean reassures easier than roll-up cigarettes. Cas isn't sure whose hand lingers longer when Dean takes the magazines from him, but it's hard for either men to keep up a smolder when they start glowing red. Like a real celebrity, Dean’s handsomer in person. "Thanks."

Cas rubs his neck with a shy smile. "You're welcome. Sorry you had to be outed like that."

"It's fine. I'm out to most of my family . . . and now you."

"Don't worry," Cas says, glancing around playfully before continuing, "it'll be between you, me, the latest girl on the cover of _Busty Asian Beauties_ , and, uh, Mr. Too Big for Any Britches. And Travis, obviously."

"Who?"

"The mail carrier."

"Ah." Dean, still embarrassed, bites his fatty lower lip that, alone, could have its own front page. "Thanks. Seriously, I appreciate it."

Cas nods, knowing well enough they're not talking about full spreads anymore. Unfortunately, he knows the hardships attached to coming out. It’s actually nice to be standing at someone’s door and not have it slammed in his face. "Well, I better get going. I have a shift at the hospital in a couple hours…”

“You’re a nurse,” Dean says, living up to his “charm” for a split second when he tosses Cas a sideways smirk that comes with a side of eye-lingering. “That’s so… respectable.”

“Doctor, actually,” Cas corrects. “In a few months, anyway.”

“Like Doctor Sexy?”

Cas laughs, “Porn and reality, Dean.”

"Right," Dean agrees somewhat reluctantly as he shakes his head to keep from staring. "Yeah, no, I, uh-listen, man, you're the total opposite of a cockblocker. You're a... a cock-enabler." Dean’s head hangs immediately after the words slip out. Cas chuckles.

"Not something I'd add to a list of qualifications, but, uhm...” He pauses to smile. “Thanks. From where I'm standing, you're the Real McCoy, too."

"Oh, _oh_ —yeah, I'm, uh..." Dean glances down at his clothes, which consist of black flannel pajama bottoms and a Zeppelin shirt with a questionable stain smeared across the blimp. Peanut butter is Cas's guess. It definitely looks like he caught some in his hair too the way it sticks straight up.  "Thanks. I'm not very attractive right now... but maybe you could give me time to clean up. Are you free tonight?"

Cas can't resist those emerald eyes, much less the tentativeness in his tone, like he's preparing for rejection from what could possibly be his first real experience with another man, so Cas replies, "Absolutely. Seven work for you?"

"Seven is perfect," Dean confirms, pushing orange freckles as a broader smile reaches his cheekbones. Cas starts to leave when Dean adds, "Oh, and Cas?"

Cas turns around. "Yeah?"

"You can borrow my magazines anytime. You know, whichever sparks your interest.”

"Thanks, but I don't think I'll be needing either of them," Cas says, grinning just as wide in return. "I'll have something much better waiting for me later.”

 


End file.
